WARNING: This post is photo heavy
Ah yes, a door of one’s own, attached to a room of one’s own, that room being my studio. Or, as I like to call it, the ‘what-would-happen-if?’ room. Most of my creative endeavors tend to be experimental; some successful, some not so much. But I’m enjoying myself, so who cares?
First, the studio. It’s only been in the past few years that I’ve been able to have this space. It used to be our homeschool classroom, then, when the kids grew, it became a shove-junk-in room. But now it’s my very own space. Hooray. No more working at the dining room table.
[a Pinterest-inspired project in the works]
I have to say that my family has always been respectful of my projects and supplies. I’ve never had to worry, even when my kids were young. The cats, however, have been another story. Curiosity has nearly killed them on several occasions (curiosity as in Acorn).
For instance, the fairy house I made for my girls when they were little. You may not be able to tell from the picture, but it was huge. I burnt my fingers a million times with the glue gun - suffering for my art. It was a thing of beauty, if I do say so myself.
It had so much detail: a pine cone shingled roof, a fur-lined fairy baby cradle, a watch tower, stairways, windows and window boxes, just to name a few
This is what’s left: Rubble. The cats decided to climb into it one day and naturally they couldn’t get out, so they broke their way out. I was so depressed I nearly slept for a week. Okay, I’m exaggerating. But I was really, really mad.
(Don't be fooled by the Beatrix Potter Tom Kitten look--it's an act)
It's just one of many things they’ve destroyed, hence the
recently-installed door. I can shut them out now, muahahaha. This means no more “little cat feet” walking across oil paint pallets; no more tangled yarn, no more spilled ink, no more eating raw wool (above) then puking on something else I’ve made…
Many of you are probably thinking by now that I'm a saint for keeping them. You are--right?
Well, they're here because some other, more merciful people who live in this house deeply love them
and--the cats haven’t wrecked any of their things—-just sayin’.
Truth be told, I love my kitties, too. What a pushover...
But because I have a room of my own
antique buttons are no longer cat toys
a room of my own
with a door that locks...Muahahaha
(Detail of a painting in progress)
When I was seventeen, we were given the assignment in art class to create self-portraits. I made a plaster casting of my face. Straws up the nose, Vaseline slathered over my mug, and a bucketful of plaster poured on top. Held still until it set. How long did that take? I honestly don't remember. The cast was successful. Pouring liquid clay in the mould, out came my reflection. I stuck it in the snow, and photographed it--a death mask. That was my world-view. 
